


A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes

by missmichellebelle



Series: Cinderfella [1]
Category: Glee RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Cinderella, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Drama, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-12-11 18:09:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/801614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missmichellebelle/pseuds/missmichellebelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Magic, my dear Christopher.” The man bows. “I am your fairy godfather, and I have come to grant your wish.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes

Chris watches from the tiny window of his room as his stepmother and sisters climb into the carriage and are whisked away into a night that no doubt holds large, unfathomable things, like romance and grandeur. They aren’t things that Chris is familiar with—maybe, at one point, he thought he might have a chance to be, but why had he ever believed his stepmother when she’d handed over his right to go to the ball like it was nothing?

It was  _everything_ , Chris knows. He knows what his stepsisters, and his stepmother, hope to accomplish there tonight. Was he really such a threat to them? Could they not give him one night of music, and dancing, and revelry?

Even if there are no locked doors or blocked pathways ahead of him, Chris rubs at the threadbare quality of his clothes and lets the drape fall over the window again.

“Some things just aren’t meant to be,” he mutters to nothing, and wonders if he can perhaps sneak parchment from his stepmothers belongings without her noticing.

“Now who got anywhere thinking like that?”

Chris stills, shoulders hunching in surprise and fear, and he turns slowly to see that a man dressed in yellow now stands at the window.

“Wh—how did you get in here?” Chris asks, unable to keep his mouth from gaping and his eyes from widening, and the man simply adjusts his (equally yellow) hat and smiles.

“Magic, my dear Christopher.” The man bows. “I am your fairy godfather, and I have come to grant your wish.”

His fairy godfather? Chris has heard of such things, of course, but they had always been stories people whispered about—they weren’t things that actually happened, and they  _certainly_  didn’t happen to him.

“My wish?” Chris asks, his voice small, and his fairy godfather beams.

“That’s right. Your destiny is waiting for you, and it all begins at that ball.” His fairy godfather strides towards him, taking Chris’s face in his hands and turning it side to side, a critical expression on his face. “It’s time to change your life. Are you ready?”

“Yes,” Chris says, without hesitation. It’s a question he’s known the answer to for as long as he can remember.

*

He’s late. There’s no one else climbing the grand staircase with him, no one waiting to see his invitation or to announce him. This is all good and fine for Chris; the last thing he wants to do is draw attention to himself. He runs his hand down the shimmery silver-blue of his coat, smiling at the way it feels against his fingertips, and then takes a deep breath as he ties on his mask. He’s lucky that it’s a masque—dressed in this splendor, with his features hidden, his family will never know of his attendance.

As he enters the ballroom, he remembers his fairy godfather’s warning,

“ _When the clock strikes midnight, the magic will begin to fade. Your clothes, the horse and carriage, everything, will disappear._ ”

It isn’t much time—even now, the clock strikes eight, but Chris has no need to stay at the ball for too long. There’s only so much dancing he can partake in, so much food he can eat.

The ballroom is the most extravagant thing Chris has ever laid eyes on, decorated lavishly and filled to the brim with the people of court dressed in their finest. It’s the prince’s ball, of course, and no one would dare attend in anything but their finest garments. Chris feels out of place only as himself, feeling like a lie in his rich clothing. He doesn’t make eye contact, but no one seems to pay him any attention.

At least, so Chris had thought.

“Excuse me.”

Chris turns from where he’d been looking over the table laden with desserts (so many that Chris’s mouth had watered at the sight—when had he last had an opportunity to eat such delicacies?), only to find a man standing there. He’s dressed in rich shades of red and gold, offset by cream and black, and is by far one of the handsomest men Chris has laid eyes on for the entirety of the evening. His dark hair is twisted into finely styled curls, and he’s staring at Chris with eyes the color of honey, warm but filled with intent, from behind an elaborate gold-and-white mask.

“Yes?” For a moment, Chris is afraid that perhaps he’s been found out, but the man simply dips into a bow and then offers his arm. Chris stares at it, as if he’s unsure what to do with the gesture.

“Would… You dance with me?” The man asks, and Chris continues to stare. He had toyed with the thought of perhaps asking one of the lonely, lovely young ladies of the court to dance with him, just to share in the joy of the evening. He’d always known that court was more accepting of other interests, but to see it happen so openly and calmly steals his breath away.

To be asked by a man such as this, well, that is another reason to be breathless entirely.

“…of course.” Chris takes his arm, unaware of the way the crowd parts around them like the sea as they make their way to the ballroom floor. Chris isn’t very familiar with the dances, but his partner doesn’t seem aware. He’s patient, and he smiles and laughs and whispers instructions too close to Chris’s ear.

It’s during one of those moments that Chris notices the way people all around the room are watching them. He sees other men dancing with men, it can’t possibly be that, so then… Why?

“People are staring at us,” he whispers, and, rather than look around, the man chuckles.

“I think people are staring at  _yo_ u.” His partner sweeps him out into a spin, then brings him in close again. “As stunning as you are, I would be surprised if they weren’t.”

Chris flushes, ducking his head, but he’s smiling.

People really are staring, though. Some of the stares are curious, some even seem happy, but there are others that look absolutely malicious—Chris can’t help but think,  _if looks could kill_. Women ringing the dance floor are absolutely  _glaring_  at them, and it makes Chris turn to hide his face in his partner’s neck. He’s not afraid of them, but it certainly is putting a damper on his evening.

His partner doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest; he grips Chris’s hand tighter, and pulls him closer.

One dance bleeds into two, then three, then four, and as the music starts to turn down for the fourth, Chris notices the girls beginning to hover around like sharks who smell blood in the water.

“Walk with me?” His partner asks, and Chris wonders how he has yet to get his name.

“Yes.” Anything to get away from the women who seem ready to pounce on them. People still watch as they leave the floor, but no one follows as they leave the ballroom for the adjoining gardens. Chris gasps—he can’t help himself—because he’s never seen gardens like these. They're lit from seemingly thousands of points of light, like stars spread among the trees and flowers, and a fountain, large and beautifully cut, pours water that shines silver in the moonlight.

“This is incredible…”

“I take it you haven’t been to the palace much?” The man asks, and Chris hadn’t realized he’d made a mistake. But the thought of lying to him, after all the laughter and dancing, feels wrong.

“No. This is my first time.” Chris lets himself be led to the fountain, and he wishes he had a spare coin to toss in. Then again, he can’t imagine what else he’d wish for.

“That would explain why I’ve never seen you before.”

Chris feels his breath catch as the backs of fingers move over his face, and when he’s met the man’s eyes, he sees them without a mask. His face is familiar to Chris, somehow, like something he may have seen in a dream…

“What is your name?” He asks, his voice soft, and he tugs Chris to sit down on the edge of the fountain, their knees touching.

“…Chris.” He chews his lip. “I’m afraid I don’t know your name, either.”

The man laughs, and it echoes around the empty garden. Chris wonders, again, if he’s made some sort of mistake, but the man is grinning at him.

“It’s Darren.”

Darren… Darren… Why does that…

Chris gasps.

“Darren?”

He nods.

“As… As in  _Prince_  Darren?”

“One and the same.” The prince’s fingers touch the edge of Chris’s mask, and he jerks in surprise. “Chris?”

And this time, Chris is the one who starts laughing. He’s spent nearly his entire night dancing with the  _prince_ , the same prince his stepsisters had gone to this very ball to try and ensnare as a husband. Chris feels a delightful sense of glee, and when he can finally meet the prince’s eyes again, he finds him smiling, as well.

“You have an amazing laugh.”

Chris blushes, his happiness softening from a sense of victory to something much warmer, something that spreads throughout his entire body.

“Your majesty—”

“Please don’t,” the prince says, eyes pleading. “For the first time since I can remember, you did not treat me as my title. That’s why I insisted on the masque, although it only seemed to fool you.”

“Perhaps I am easily fooled,” Chris says with a slight sigh, but the prince shakes his head.

“You are much too smart for that. I’ve never met someone with a sharper tongue,” he teases, and Chris can’t help but laugh in surprise at the compliment. “But please. Just Darren.”

Chris feels another jolt of surprise as the prince—Darren—reaches for his hands, and he reaches back, lacing their fingers together and making Darren grin.

“Darren, then.”

There is no music in the garden, just the quiet serenade of crickets, but they speak with the same ease. The night is warm, and Chris’s mask feels heavy on his face, and not once does he think about the clock.

They’re heads are bent close together, whispering as if they are trading secrets rather than stories about their childhood. Chris is as vague as possible—he doesn’t mention names, or places, aside from his own cat, Brian—but he loves to listen to Darren talk about his life. They’ve grown up so differently, but Darren is nothing like Chris had ever envisioned their prince to be. He’s nothing like the way his stepsisters describe him, or the way the town treats him.

He’s just Darren, and he’s spectacular.

His hands brush over Chris’s arms, his shoulders, his knees, and eventually they find his face again.

“May I?” He asks, touching the mask again. Chris hesitates.

“Why?”

“I wish to see you,” Darren says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world—perhaps it is. “And perhaps I wish to kiss you, as well.”

Chris sucks in a fast breath, his heart hammering against his chest, and he feels Darren’s fingers flit back to the knot keeping his mask in place.

The clock chimes.

Chris jerks back.

“Midnight,” he whispers, and stares at Darren in horror. Darren, with his confused, hurt expression, eyebrows furrowed.

“Chris?”

“I… I have to go.” He stands up, trying to remember the direction he came from, and starts off. He can’t think about what he’s walking away from, or what he feels.

 _It’s a dream. It’s all a dream_.

“Chris!”

Chris looks over his shoulder, and Darren is running after him. Chris speeds up.

The clock continues to chime.

“I’m sorry!” Chris calls back, and he is, can’t Darren see that? Can’t Darren tell he doesn’t want to leave?

“Please don’t go!”

“I must!” If he could stay, he would,  _forever_ , but once Darren sees him—the real him, the him outside of the magical clothing—it will all be over.

“Chris, please, don’t you know what tonight is for?”

Chris doesn’t know, but he can’t stop, not for a second.

“Please! I choose you!”

Chris’s step almost falters, but he carries on, reaching the stairs. He can see his carriage below, the horses flinging their heads impatiently.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

 _It’s a dream, I’m a dream, and I can’t dare for you to see me for who I am and lose it forever_.

He stumbles, trips, but keeps going, ignoring the increasingly frantic calls Darren makes after him. He can feel the tears welling in his eyes, wishes that the mask was gone, that he could wipe them away.

Chris can’t help but wonder how this was supposed to change his life.  _What did you mean, fairy godfather? That I would learn what it is to feel this way, and then have it stolen away from me?_

The carriage is already shifting beneath him, and it’s off before the door is even closed. Chris doesn’t allow himself to look back—if he does, he knows he’ll change his mind. He’ll let everything fall apart. If he can only hold onto this one night, then he will hold it close to his heart forever.

The clothes fade, the silvery blue turning dull and shifting back to brown and black. The carriage becomes the old cart they use to haul vegetables again, and they’ve just reached the house when the horses turn back into a mule and a goat.

Chris sits there and cries, the summer night suddenly cold, and when he does wipe his eyes, he notices that the strange, ornate shoes are still upon his feet. At least, one of them is—the other one is gone.


End file.
